


Clara Oswald & the Case of the Sold Out Cupcakes

by capalxii



Series: Longer prompt fills [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Cupcakes, F/M, Fluff, Food Trucks, alternate universe - food trucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:52:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capalxii/pseuds/capalxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from tumblr user cazdinal: "Food truck au for either doctor who or ttoi :)" Went with a Whouffaldi cupcake truck AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clara Oswald & the Case of the Sold Out Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> There is actually fantastic art for this work, posted [here](http://cardinalcapaldi.tumblr.com/post/123858263991/sorry-about-your-luck-but-your-eyes-go-really) by the prompter. It's really cute, go check it out.

None of the reviews were particularly positive on service—one even went as far as to describe the proprietor as “having an expression like he’d just sucked a lemon and a personality to match”—but that didn’t stop the little blue truck from having lines around city blocks whenever it showed up somewhere.

And it certainly didn’t stop Clara Oswald, at the end of the school day, once the children were sent home and the papers packed away for grading at home, from joining that long line each and every time that truck came anywhere near her school.

It was a stupid truck, really, besides the color: the signage on the side was retro-futuristic, big and white and bold with stylized stars like something out of a 60s science fiction show, and it read Fourth Dimension Cupcakes, which, in Clara’s opinion, was frankly the silliest name possible for a cupcake truck, followed by the tagline, “The Taste is Bigger Than the Cake!” which didn’t even make any sense until the first time she had one. It was an unassuming little thing that exploded with flavor, delicate and bombastic all at once, a perfect red velvet concoction that had kept her coming back for more.

As she waited in the unseasonably hot sun, she only wished that she were the only one who kept coming back. The line moved quickly enough, but it was long, and by the time she got to the front, smiled brightly, and asked, “One red velvet, please?” the proprietor was frowning at her.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding all that sorry. “I’m out. Of everything.”

She pouted as he began to close up shop, barely hearing the disappointed sighs from the people behind her.

*

The next time he came around, the line was just as long.

“Sorry,” he said again. The frown on his face looked slightly different, though. “I’ve seen you before.”

“I try to come whenever you’re in the neighborhood,” she said with a weak smile. “Had bad luck the last couple times.”

“Bad luck? You should come earlier,” he said. Nothing about his taciturn expression looked sympathetic to her plight, but she imagined—it must have been imagination, really—that his eyes held something softer. “I run out of the red velvet before anything else.”

“Don’t really want anything else,” she said with a wistful smile.

A person behind her must have overheard, because she heard someone say, “Then get out of line!”

The proprietor—tall, rangy, too rangy for a baker to be honest, set his most furious glare on the customer and yelled, “There’s nothing here for you, you rude little-”

“No, come on, it’s fine,” Clara said. “He’s right. Sorry for taking up your time. See you soon?”

He looked back down at her with some surprise. “I-” he began, but she was already walking away.“

*

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

It was a strange look on him, Clara thought. His face was built for seriousness, rage even, and so his wide-eyed look of apology fit him in a nearly comical way. “It’s fine,” she said. “Should’ve taken your advice and come earlier.”

“Sure you don’t want anything else?” he asked. “I’ve got a lovely strawberry.”

She shook her head and stepped out of line for the next customer.

*

“No, no more red velvet,” he said loudly. Three people back in the line, Clara sighed and felt her shoulders sagging before she knew she was even doing it.

But he caught her eye before she could leave, winked in a completely obvious way, and motioned for her to stay put. Curious, she stayed in line, even though she knew if she left right then she could catch the next bus without waiting. When she got to the front, he leaned down out of the window and whispered, “Order a chocolate.”

“Uh.” She blinked. “Could I have a chocolate, please?”

“Of course, one chocolate coming up,” he said, too loudly. He put something into a cupcake box and handed it to her. “Two pounds fifty.”

Confused, she handed him the money; even more confused, she saw him pretend to take it in a decent enough sleight of hand. 

“Uh?” she asked.

He leaned down again. “Go on. It’s fine.”

She left with a chocolate cupcake and all her money in tact. Her bus was, as she’d presumed, already gone, so she sat on the narrow bench and opened her little box. When she saw what she hadn’t bought, she tried very hard not to smile, and failed.  
Inside sat a generously frosted red velvet cupcake, and a little note beside. She took it out to read: “Sorry about your luck. But your eyes go really big when you’re sad and I don’t like it, so I made you better luck. I’ll save one for you next time too.”

She laughed, tucked the note into her purse, and sighed with bliss as she took a bite of her perfect little cupcake.


End file.
